


Birthday Cake

by whatsun



Series: Drabbles [1]
Category: Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: Fluff, Food, M/M, i dont know, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-17
Updated: 2015-03-17
Packaged: 2018-03-18 08:58:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3563792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatsun/pseuds/whatsun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I get bored sometimes. This happens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Birthday Cake

Greg trudged up the stairs, soaking wet from the cold November rain, hair dripping onto the collar of his white shirt, which now clung to his body like a second skin. Fed up and miserable, he slid his keys into the lock in his front door. With the red paint faded and peeling, it wasn't much to look at, but it was home. Home, with its old, worn sofas, the battered books that sat on the ring-marked coffee table, and the carpet that had six years worth of mud and London dirt trodden into it. 

Opening the door and kicking off his shoes, Greg moved into the flat, grabbing a beer from the fridge on his way to the bathroom. Setting it down by the sink, he peeled of the  wet layers of his suit and jacket, hanging them over the radiator to dry. He stepped into the shower, and turned it on, standing under the cold water until it turned hot. Once it was hot enough to be uncomfortable, Greg reached for the shower gel, scrubbing all evidence of a bad day from his skin. Bloody Sherlock, making him look like a total idiot; he'd almost lost him his job more times than he could count. Working shampoo into his short, greying hair, he tried to forget; he wouldn't let something that had happened in the day ruin his evening. Not this evening. This evening was his boyfriend's birthday, and he wasn't going to let Sherlock ruin this as well.

Stepping out of the  shower, Greg picked up his beer again, taking a long swig on the way to the bedroom. Pulling a charcoal grey from the wardrobe, he dressed quickly, cautious of being late. He quickly snagged the presents from where they sat on the coffee table, and stepped out the door, only 20 minutes after going in.

Clambering out of the cab, Greg was once again struck with the grandeur of Mycroft's town house. It was large, spacious and bathed in money. The black door swung open to reveal an impeccably dressed Mycroft, his face already twisting in a uncharacteristic smile when he saw Greg.

Inside, the two men ate the three delicious courses, prepared by the ever-present cook at the house. Conversation stayed well away from the realms of work; it often ending in an argument, which (on one occasion) lead to a mobile being thrown out of the window. Tonight however, there were no arguments, just laughter and discussion.

After what was most likely the nicest roast beef he had ever had, Greg settled on the sofa, to watch as Mycroft opened his present. The box itself was small, not impressive in its size, but he was confident that what was inside would be received well. It was. The small, gold pocket-watch, complete with engraving, caused a large smile to break out on the older Holmes' face.

"Gregory, it is perfect." Mycroft was already slipping it into his breast pocket. "I love it."

"Thought you might," he replied, a small sense of pride filling him.

Mycroft moved from his position at the other end of the sofa, setting the box and torn wrapping paper on the (immaculate) coffee table, before moving towards Greg. He swung his legs out of the way, sliding them off from where they had been stretched out along the sofa.

When he reached Greg, Mycroft's kiss was surprisingly gentle, lips meeting his with a soft pressure, hand moving to cup the back of his head, fingers weaving into his hair. After a moment, he pulled back, resting his forehead against Greg's. Their eyes met, both sets of pupils fully dilated, heart-rate steadily increasing, before they crushed their lips back together. This kiss was not so soft, tongues meeting each other, hands gripping each other, pulling them closer. Greg moaned softly as Mycroft's tongue traced his lower lip.

Mycroft pulled back, causing Greg to open his eyes in question. "I know what's missing," he breathed, rolling off the sofa, and moving out of the room.

Greg just sat there, confused. Had he done something wrong?

The question was answered when Mycroft returned, a plate in his hand. The slice of cake was huge, at least a quarter of the entire cake, and was covered in chocolate icing. It looked delicious.

Mycroft sat down next to him again, still holding the plate. He looked at Greg's mouth, then let his eyes slide up to his. Without breaking eye contact, he ran his long fingers through the icing on the cake, then leaned forwards, and spread it on Greg's lips. Then he pressed his own lips to them, letting his tongue clean the icing from his lips, before slipping it into Greg's mouth. He could taste the chocolate in his mouth, and moaned quietly, which seemed to spur Mycroft on, as he rubbed more cake onto his lips.

After a minute or two, Greg pulled back, causing the other man to frown. He smirked, and reached for the cake. The frown disappeared instantly. Grinning, Greg spread the cake and icing across Mycroft's face, along his jawline, up to the shell of his ear. Tilting his head back to admire his handiwork, his smile widened. He fisted his hands in Mycroft's hair, pulling his head back so that he could lick the icing from under his jaw. He moaned, bucking his hips up into Greg, who grinned. Tracing the shell of his ear with his tongue, Greg let his hands wander downwards, until Mycroft was gasping. He moved towards the cake again, but found himself being shoved from the sofa.

"No. Bedroom."

Greg did as Mycroft demanded, making his way to the large bedroom at the end of the corridor. Mycroft watched him go. After a second he followed, pausing only to grab the rest of the cake from the kitchen.


End file.
